


badly kept promises and lies well spoken

by verbanski



Series: sarah meet sara [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Chuck (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbanski/pseuds/verbanski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in between here and there, they make the best of what they can find somewhere in the middle</p>
            </blockquote>





	badly kept promises and lies well spoken

**Author's Note:**

> let's assume that sarah actually owns the orange orange because why the fuck would she just be working there while driving a porsche and that she actually has a real place to live instead of a hotel room for two years and only gets actual accommodations that facilitate long term living after she moves in with that man child

They exchanged pleasantries somewhere between the bottom of the first and the top of the second, some time before the foul ball that got caught by left field and after the bad call at third base; pleasantries being a generous word for what it is they actually do.

Sarah is already sitting in her seat when Sara gets there, a huge, mostly full souvenir cup of some cheap beer in hand. She slips into the empty seat next to her and is wordlessly handed the cup after she passes over one of the two hotdogs she’s holding. Neither of them actually look at the other throughout the exchange, despite how fluid the simple actions are they were uncoordinated. Sara figured since she already missed the beginning and the lines were slim, she might as well get something for the both of them considering it was lunch time, anyways. Hotdogs never hurt at a ball game and neither does beer, so she’s not exactly surprised that Sarah already got some.

“I didn’t know you were a fan of Little League, Walker,” she teases. She knows full well the answer she’s going to get but she can’t resist the urge, keeps her eyes out on the field ahead of her and takes a bite out of her hotdog to keep the smirk pulling at her lips from being too noticeable.

_Because I'm not_ is the deadpanned response and it’s pretty much what Sara was expecting. There’s zero correlation between them meeting at a game during the Little League World Series and Sarah’s interest in the sport or league as a whole. She figures it’s the easiest place to meet without raising any alarms, a public place with too many people packed together, and enough excitement to drown out anything they could be talking about. It’s also not a home, not where someone could tag along without some effort because it’s two hours south of Burbank and Sarah definitely came alone.

Still, she laughs because Sarah Walker is trying to fit in at a baseball game and it’s another one of those domestic things she would’ve given up her left kidney to avoid doing it some years ago. “So, if you’re not here because you’re rooting for Chula Vista, what are we doing here?”

“Talking.”

“We’re not doing too good a job of that.”

“Give it some time.”

 

 

Some time ends up being close to five innings later, after cheering and booing and drinking more cheap beer than necessary out of a shared cup and Sara finally looks over at Sarah for the first time after their cup gets jostled and she’s trying to miss spilling any on her. It’s the same time she notices that the cap Sarah’s been wearing this whole time is actually her cap, one that she’s lost track of for a year and some odd months. Sara tells her as much but it’s not like that does much for her, all it gets her is her hand swiftly slapped away when she tries to take it back.

“I need your help,” Sarah yells above the crowd. “I have a job, in Burbank, and I could do this without you but if you could stick around for a few weeks, this could go a hell of a lot better with you.”

She’s always amused when she gets asked for help, it certainly never fails to make her day. “Here,” Sara says while handing over the beer cup after taking a sip herself, “you probably need all of that and then some after admitting that you could do better with me. I’ve heard you asking for help from me before and I have never once heard you say anything close to that. Must’a hurt.”

It’s a little while before Sarah talks to her again, she goes back to being involved in the game. When Sara tries to get up to cheer during a triple play, it really shouldn’t have surprised her when Sarah dead legs her and she comes crashing back down in her seat in a jolt of pain. Still, she does so laughing because despite everything, it _is_ funny.

And, besides, there are a handful of weeks Sara could spare for the time being. At the very least, it wouldn’t hurt to help a friend out – one of the only ones she has left – for as long as she can. Her own endeavors don’t need immediate addressing and time with Sarah is harder to come by than she’d like, if she was willing to admit that.

“Sure, I’ll do it,” she barely gets out above the noise.

Even so, Sarah seems to hear her. She tips the cup way up in the air and downs the last of their beer just as the bottom of the eighth finishes and Tokyo is leading by four. As soon as it’s done, she drops the empty cup into Sara’s lap, makes to leave before the next inning, and Sara takes that as her cue to follow eventually.

She laughs again as she watches Sarah walk away, at herself this time. Haven’t even started working yet and she’s already getting silently bossed around again.

 

 

“Are they really going to buy that I work at the US consulate in Strasbourg?”

“It’ll explain why you’re hanging around for so long. Just put on your big girl pants for once and you’ll be fine.”

There’s a smartass remark that’s hanging on the tip of her tongue that Sara wants to say but she takes all the self control she has and forces the urge into a pretty good glare. Not that it was worth it because when she does look over at Sarah, she’s poring over some stack of documents they’re supposed to be going over.

Her backstory is comical, if not slightly bizarre on some level of practicality. It’s true, no one will really _check_ if she’s actually working at the consulate, though she doubts she needs that much of an elaborate story to begin with. Really, there’s no one so interested in her here to warrant all of this; if anything even came up, she could’ve just made something up on the fly and stick with it. Even so, she keeps it to herself, not having the heart to put a damper on everything Sarah’s already worked out.

A beat later, the bell hanging on top of the Orange Orange’s door rings and Sarah’s geeky man-child boyfriend (Chad?) walks through with an air of smugness that doesn’t seem to suit him too well. He ignores Sara for a second, focusing on giving what he probably thinks is a passable subtle display of affection towards his 'girlfriend.' It would’ve been fine if he didn’t look too giddy throwing an extremely not-subtle wink at Sarah.

Sara fails miserably at holding down the laugh that escapes suddenly and that breaks him away from his attempt to kiss Sarah to look at her. His eyebrows knit for a second, before he says, “Sam?”

It takes her a second to remember that she has a different name here, stumbling a little bit before she nods confidently and extends her hand out towards him. “Yeah, that’s me, and you’re…” she trails off, hoping that he’ll fill in the blank real quick before she has to admit that she can’t actually remember his name. Sara remembers him but she didn’t exactly bother to put his name into the memory bank – that, and she honestly didn’t think that Sarah would be staying around long enough for it to be relevant.

Finally, he takes the hint, shooting his hand out with much more force than necessary to shake hers. His name is Chuck, he reminds her, and that vaguely clicks when she replays breakfast from that day in her mind.

Chuck seems to be buying the whole part where Sara is Sarah’s sister because his indiscrete nodding towards the back door of the store makes Sarah signal for her to wait here, while she heads to the back with him in tow. She doesn’t ask what it’s about, figures she’ll most likely be tuned in later, anyways.

She ends up finding her way to the Buy More, wandering aimlessly through the various aisles of the store, after finishing her second cup of froyo. It’s not the best and it’s not the worst, and she’s hungry but too lazy to make her way all the way across the shopping center to the Subway there, so she sucks it up, fills most of her cups with fruit to get by. As soon as she makes it through the door, a few guys in outfits that match Chuck’s come to greet her and one shorter one in green introduces himself as Morgan after shooing them away, presumably to keep them from violating her in some way given his frantic babbling.

Morgan sets out to help her become acquainted with his store after he asks her what brings her by today and the only answer Sara has that makes sense is that she knew Chuck works here, that she’s not actually looking for anything in particular. He explains that Chuck just went over to Orange Orange to say hi to his girlfriend, the grimace she makes at that enough to get his attention and probe that topic further. Sara introduces herself as Sarah’s sister, here to visit on a healthy vacation that’s long overdue and plans to leave it at that.

As it turns out, Morgan is Chuck’s best friend, thusly the leading expert on his love life and that tidbit helps her keep the suspicions at bay when he supplies her cover name before she’s had a chance to say it; he recounts Chuck telling him about their unexpected meeting over meal he was meant to share with her sister. Truth be told, Sara’s a little more than kind of surprised that either guys are able to remember something so insignificant. When he’s done, he finishes with “I didn’t know Sarah had a sister.”

“Sometimes it feels like a different lifetime,” she chuckles, shoving her hands inside her jacket to have something to do. The statement makes little sense to Morgan, who shoots her a curious look. She simply shakes her head again and says, “no, it’s just we went different ways. We were close once, I guess, but then push came to shove and we wanted different things – it happens. To sisters.”

That seems to assuage his interest in that subject for the time being and she takes the opportunity to find out more about Sarah’s fake love life from a third party who’s none the wiser about who she really is. They stroll around the store together, Morgan pretending to point out items of interest to her along the shelves and displays while mostly focusing on elaborate stories about the famed love that was inevitable between his best friend and her sister since day one. She maintains her composure for the most part, even during the story where Sarah dressed up as Princess Leia for Halloween especially for Chuck. But when Morgan mentions how Chuck dotes on Sarah to the point where he can just know what she wants to order at restaurants when they go out to eat, she starts laughing until tears are close to forming in her eyes and her stomach hurts from the exertion.

He looks at her expectantly throughout, waiting until Sara’s laughter dies down a bit before he tries to catch her eye again. She waves him off, stomping down her great amusement to tell him that she’s only laughing because she would have never guessed that Sarah was into that whole deal. Morgan explains that it’s because Chuck really knows her and he’s so attuned to her that it’s just something that comes naturally, hence the whole love story extraordinaire. Sara eyes him skeptically for a split second before deciding to keep her mouth shut. There’s no reason to blow such a convincing cover relationship by mentioning how Sarah utterly hates it when someone else orders for her despite how many times she’d prematurely decided Sara’s meals regardless of what Sara was actually in the mood for. Maybe she mellowed out with the CIA but if Sarah’s pretending to enjoy this relationship crap, she might be collared worse than Sara originally thought.

Just as Morgan’s about to start telling her another story about a birthday party or something or other, they’re interrupted by a loud ‘hey, buddy’ coming from somewhere behind him. Morgan’s face lights up when he sees Chuck, eager to introduce him to Sara – well, Sam – but slows down a little when he notices Sarah came with him.

“I see you’ve met my kid sister, hopefully she managed to behave like an acceptable adult while you two were hanging out,” Sarah quips, throwing a taunting smirk at Sara while she narrows her eyes at the slight. Almost predictably, Morgan comes to defend her honor before she has a chance to open her mouth to retort and Sara finds him to be a decent enough guy despite his predilections for absurd and excessive delusions about true love or whatever.

For her part, Sarah seems impressed that Sara managed to turn down her sarcasm far enough to keep Chuck’s partner-in-crime on her side. On the one hand, she’s glad she managed to exceed her expectations, on the other she really does not appreciate Sarah messing up her hair and chalking it up to a dumb hair tousle.

“Well, I’m off the clock now and since you’ve been doing such a good job acting your age so far, I was thinking a nice welcome dinner would be a good reward. What do you say, Sammy?”

Wow, Sarah is _seriously_ testing her less-than-the-average amount of patience.

 

 

Said welcome dinner ends up being a much larger event than Sara thought it would be when Sarah suggested the idea. Morgan asks to come along on the spot when Sara agrees to it, then Chuck is apparently a given because Morgan is allowed to come and Chuck is Sarah’s boyfriend for all intents and purposes. After that, Sarah’s partner is invited via yelling across the store to where he’s trying to move a washer and dryer set in Appliances and he seems to only agree to get them to not ruin his sale. Later, at the restaurant, an extra chipper couple is waiting for her and Sarah with Chuck in tow and it’s not until after they’ve got her in a rib crushing hug that Sara is told the woman is Chuck’s sister and the guy is her longtime boyfriend.

Getting through the night involves a lot of small talk, like Mad Libs for Assassins: Dinner Edition. There’s blanks during all the conversations that either Sarah or herself fill up that give enough for their answers to be satisfactory enough as to not provoke deeper questioning.

It’s been stupid long since she had to actually uphold any coherent cover and longer since any situation called for her to actually have to remember anything in her cover for more than a few days at best. She’s not so much worried as she is exhausted with coming up with things that would befit a twenty-something year old with a good job in a foreign country. In the middle of their appetizers and their main course, Sara realizes she has almost no clue what someone else her age would be up to if they finished college and found a job and all that other stuff. Luckily, chalking all that up to being a workaholic ever since she graduated college and applied for a job overseas buys her a lot of leeway. She knows Strasbourg well enough placate their interests and her French has been used enough recently for her to be believable.

Even with the night counting as a success, the moment they get to Sarah’s condo, she kicks off her boots and downs the half full tumbler of whiskey that Sarah hands her without preamble.

“It gets better,” Sarah says, nearly a whisper, and she tousles her hair again, this time actually meaning to show some affection for her, “you did good, kid.”

She takes the second glass of liquor as a thank you and Sarah letting her sleep in her bed that night as a promise she’ll take care of her while she’s here so there’s no reason to run.

 

 

The next few days go by doing mundane things that come with having a life that’s also dull, one that revolves around a job that’s predictable and people equally so. Sarah tells her nothing of what she’s doing playing along with this charade but she doesn’t push it. To be perfectly honest, she kind of enjoys this kind of downtime. Usually, she ends up in somewhere undesirable or somewhere a little too extravagant to simply relax and here, with Sarah, she kind of gets the best of both in a weird way.

There’s even somewhat of a routine by then, involving running in the mornings with Sarah and eating dinner with her at night and occupying her time doing something in between. She’s actually quite taken to video games, finding she has a knack playing Halo after Morgan mentions that Chuck lent Sarah an Xbox to try and get her into it. Other times, she’s content to sit on the couch playing Cooking Mama or something on Sarah’s uncharacteristically baby pink DS – another lovely gift from Chuck. As more time passes, Sara becomes more inclined to the beach, preferring to hang out there doing whatever.

Unsurprisingly, Sara runs out of things that can actually maintain her interest for more than an hour or so at a time. Her skin starts to itch with the impulse to do something more stimulating than shooting virtual people on a screen or taking a nap on the beach; a week of relaxing proves to be what she needed while simultaneously bordering way too much of it.

Normally, she would leave, kind of sneak away or something in the middle of the night. Her stuff fits in a small enough duffle bag and if she really didn’t want to go through the hassle, she could leave all of it behind without caring too much about it. But this is _different_ , she internally berates herself, she can’t pick up and leave because this is Sarah and she promised.

Well, not really promised with words that are spoken and such, but she might as well have and that’s what counts.

So instead of running away from the Kingdom of Bore, Sara sets up shop in the tiny backyard that’s available putting a makeshift target in the far corner and positioning herself in the one diagonal to it. It takes some searching before she finds the compound bow she was pretty convinced Sarah never had the heart to actually get rid of, hidden safely underneath the couch cushions in an impressive lockbox. The whole thing would be more impressive if Sarah didn’t use the combination she always uses, and if Sara didn’t remember it because it’s her birthday. She should probably talk to her about changing that, then again it’s not like Sara actually exists to anyone anymore so maybe it’s not that big of a deal after all.

Despite all the time since it’s been since they left, her bow is still in impressive condition almost like she still used it from time to time. The string is still taut, broken in not worn out, the cams move smoothly, the bow on a whole look like there hasn’t been any love lost between it and its owner.

A fond smile tugs at her lips when Sara picks up the bow and feels the weigh tin her hand, familiar the way it’s always been, whenever Sarah let her take a hold of it. She never had much need to use it after Sarah gave her one of her own, but this one was her first and it seems like that’s made an impact on her. Her smile widens when the grip doesn’t fit right in her hand, she forgot that Sarah shot with her left although she’s a righty. Good thing at that, Sara thinks, since the target she set up is ten feet away at best and that wouldn’t have been challenging at all with her dominant hand – least this way she’ll get a challenge on top of giving her itching fingers something they like to do.

Her left side isn’t as unpracticed as Sara initially thought, actually managing to hit close to the center of the target with the first dozen arrows she looses. It’s by no means where it was when she first learned but it’s pretty good for not using this side for half a decade. Her bow is safely tucked away somewhere else, ever since she decided a bo staff was easier to travel often with than an actual bow.

Also, arrows are annoying as shit to get back.

Sara has just started shooting again after collecting the used arrows when she sees Sarah leaning on the sliding door that leads outside. Her arms are crossed and Sara can’t really make out her face in the moonlight from this angle but if there was anything wrong, Sarah would’ve spoken up by now. She takes that understanding as permission to keep shooting until her arrows run out again and Sarah finally crosses the threshold outside.

“I’m glad she’s getting some air,” she says warmly, happy to see that someone still appreciates the mechanics one of her most prized possessions even if she can’t indulge herself. “I keep meaning to take her out but something always comes up and it’s really hard to explain why a frozen yogurt shop owner is strangely adept at hunting. She deserves better than maintenance every couple weeks.”

The bow is still in Sara’s hand while she runs her fingers over it, affectionate in a way that doesn’t surprise Sara. She can be all hard lines and scary efficiency when she needs to be for as long as she’s required to, until it’s not anymore and Sarah can let all of that fall to the wayside, suddenly looking like exactly the person she would be had she had a life that was more typical.

(sara envies that – knowing who you were made into and who you were meant to be and being both)

Sarah starts again, fingers still playing with the bow, “I have a lead. Well, more of a hunch,” she amends. “Chuck has this ex-girlfriend he’s been hung up on, one from when he was at Stanford and his life went to shit because of us. He’s been hung up on her ever since she dumped him for Bryce and she pinged on our grid a little while ago.”

From somewhere Sara didn’t notice earlier, she opens up some compartment behind them to pull out a quiver full of more arrows. She takes one out, accepting the proffered bow, and draws back swiftly, hitting a bulls eye seemingly without much effort at all. Sara might be a little envious; in her defense, this is technically Sarah’s dominant hand and her weak one.

“Jill Roberts…I looked into her when she showed up because Chuck never told me much about her aside from the broken hearted stuff I didn’t care much for, I never asked for more.” She explains while continuing to shoot, “she checked out, everything normal, but none of it really sit well with me. It all seemed too –“

“Perfect?” Sara finishes for her. “You think she’s one of you?”

It makes sense, the government for all it’s worth, can’t really put together a good cover for shit. Something is always too pristine, too good to be true, and it raises a lot of red flags along the way. Life is a bunch of ups and downs and people with half a brain get a little skeptical when you have too many ups along the way.

“No, not exactly. I’m headlining here, if another operative was in play or anywhere near me, I would have been informed. Unless she’s in deep cover, I would know but I don’t exactly see an advantage to having a secret biochemist.”

“You can’t ask your boyfriend? I’m sure he could shed some light on all of this, maybe give you a hint about some sketchy past you’re missing.”

“He still loves her,” she sighs, like she’s frustrated because surely, she’s never really had to deal with anyone like him before, ruled almost explicitly by feelings from what Sarah’s told her about him. “Won’t say anything bad about her, let alone something useful.”

“This is where I come in?”

“Keep tabs on her, stay away though. I don’t want her poking around you. Just hang back and tell me if you think she’s who I think she is, we’ll go from there.”

Shadow watching, huh. At least jumping rooftops will be fun.

 

 

Turns out Biochemist Jill Roberts is actually Spy Jill Roberts, except that’s not exactly freely given information to most people.

It’s pretty obvious to Sara when she watches her for a few nights, the way she checks her peripherals and how she bolts her lock when she gets home. The way she checks her surroundings real quick before she uses her cellphone and when she orders Thai food but no food ever shows up to her apartment.

There’s subtle differences between ordinary people and spies, even more subtle between spies and assassins. Assassins like to walk around with a grotesque air of confidence, nothing to lose that’s outside of their reputation and they don’t exactly have any hearts they care to win over to catch their mark. On the other hand, spies are made of thinly veiled disguises. Kind of like Clark Kent with his Superman uniform just right underneath his tailored suit. They're secrets anyone can stumble upon, so they try harder than the average to cover their tracks, to be inconspicuous, but if you watch them for long enough, they look behind them a little too much to be kosher.

Apparently, Sarah manages to pull some strings and Spy Jill Roberts seems to be rumored as Rouge Spy Jill Roberts nowadays. That’s all on the down low, though it seems to hold some merit when Sarah hears about the circumstances. She explains that she’s probably a Fulcrum agent, a rogue CIA faction, and that’s all Sara gets about that; not that she minds, the less she knows about all of this, the better off she feels.

“So, what are we doing about this?”

“ _We_ are doing nothing. _I_ am going to figure out something to take care of this.”

“Didn’t really take you for the jealous girlfriend type but I guess I can see it now.”

And, if the stars currently flooding her vision are any good indicator, that was the worst thing she could have said because now she’s got a face full of training mat, with her shoulder levered in such a way that it’s probably a millimeter or so away from popping out of its socket. Sarah’s got her pinned down to the mat, her knee on the middle of her spine with enough pressure to keep her from being able to execute any counter maneuver.

Her arm hurts, her face stings, and she’s pretty sure her back isn’t meant to be this limber, but it still doesn’t hurt so bad to deserve the scathing _ow_ she grits out. That snaps something in Sarah’s head and her arm is let loose slightly, barely enough so that there’s no risk of dislocating anymore.

“Chuck, like it or not, is my asset and Fulcrum has been on my ass since Day One trying to get their fucking dirty hands on him, so you’ll excuse me if protecting my own ass makes me look like I’m jealous.”

Sarah leans over to growl that into her ear, taking away enough pressure that Sara can actually move and all it takes is a familiar motion to roll her way out of the arm bar and shove her off her back. As soon as she gets on her feet, Sara lunges directly into the other woman who’s trying to regain her bearings and lands a right cross that makes contact with a satisfyingly good crack before she walks out.

Like motherfucking _hell_ she asked for any of this shit, it stands to reason that she wouldn’t tolerate any of it either.

 

 

Half of Sarah’s face is a mottled mess of black and blue for the better of a week. Her shoulder’s a little worse for wear, kind of stiff but not actually bruised. Probably strained a few ligaments a smidge but it’s nothing as noticeable as what she dished out. Even her face is relatively tame despite being thrown down. Lucky for her, training mats are relatively soft compared to her fist.

She doesn’t say sorry though – in fact, refuses to altogether on principle.

She does go to the supermarket and bring Sarah back a sizable sirloin though.

 

 

“I need you to bring her in.”

“My way or your way?”

“Bring her in.”

 

 

Spies are generally predictable people if someone can pick up the right signals. It’s not hard to anticipate certain things because they have rules to follow, someone to answer to, something that’s bigger than them. It makes them easy targets if someone chooses to hunt them.

As such, Jill Roberts is easy pickings for Sara.

All she has to do is wait for her by the diner where she’s seen her go every afternoon at three to do something – it’s never the same thing but she’s always there doing whatever at the same time. To make things easier still, spies have that nasty habit of being overly concerned with their backsides.

It’s highly unusual for any of them to pay attention to who’s in front of them and that’s exactly how Sara manages to get her in plain sight with the same right cross.

Now, she’s strapped to a chair in the hidden interrogation room at the underground base with a high-tech polygraph attached to her and Sarah staring her down from another chair across from her. The polygraph is probably a prop although it’s turned on and working, Sarah knows better than to trust a machine to tell if someone’s being untruthful and she’s better at reading people than a machine will ever be.

Besides, Jill is kind of awful at playing innocent and even Sara can pick up on that half paying attention while just brooding in the back, leaning against the two-way mirror, arms set across her chest. She probably reinforces Sarah’s prowess by still hanging in the room, sure the two women sitting down have identical bruises blooming on their faces but she’s firmly rooted in Sarah’s court here.

Sarah is pleasant at first, deceptively docile while asking normal interrogation questions until her bullshit tolerance is filled up and she’s had enough of these poorly recited lies. The edges start to fray the more she digs at Jill, slowly breaking her down in a systematic way only someone from where they’ve been would be able to. Knowing she’d bring out this set of skills puts hiding this little meeting into perspective; there’s no way any legitimate government agency would approve of this under their own roof had they known about it.

It’s always eerie to watch when she gets like this, extremely detached in a way that makes her ten times bigger than she actually is when she’s staring someone down – makes Sara extremely glad she’s almost indefinitely on her good side.

At the end, it only takes about five more minutes for Jill to fess up that she is, in fact, a Fulcrum agent and then another five for Sarah to be completely rid of her.

 

 

“You can stay longer, you know,” Sarah tells her while she’s packing up what little clothes she brought.

She lets out a humorous laugh, shaking her head, “not exactly a card I have in my hand right now. Don’t exactly belong here the way you do, anyhow.”

“Neither of us belongs here, it’s a choice to settle down and stay – you can make the same.”

Sarah is persistent, it’s usually a more redeeming quality when they’re chasing someone down, less so when they’re talking about life choices she disapproves.

“Maybe later,” and she finds she means it, for the most part. It earns her a hug that could be considered too tight and a Batman key to Sarah’s apartment hung on a Buy More lanyard of all things. _For later_ , Sarah explains, pushing the key in her direction. She takes it despite not wanting to, it feels like making too big a promise she won’t be able to keep.

Maybe on a rainy day, she’ll be able to find her way to another home.


End file.
